A couple weekends ago my roommate and I hosted a bonfire – “Burnin Down the Toxins” we called it. (If you listened you could hear burnin down the house as well as disco inferno.) We have both been through divorces in the fairly recent past and are both cleaning out the closet of old memories. When you start to look through you find some toxic shit. So we started a “burn box” of photos, journals, wedding books and other randomness that frankly needed to go up in flames. We finally invited a bunch of our girls out to burn their shit too. We packed food and beer and wine and a positive attitude about what would come of the experience. It was fantastic. What a catharsis! Releasing the toxic energy from all that had been done over the past few years, conversing with friends (both old and new) and BURNIN SHIT! Women (and a few brave men I might add) came over to our fire to check it out. We were extolled for our ingenious idea. One lovely lady brought me a beer from her husband who said we were awesome for letting go. I highly recommend this to anyone who needs to get stuff off their chest.
The burn-fest and the hangin out was great fun, but the funniest part of the whole thing came in the form of an extremely intoxicated woman named Heather. Heather’s boyfriend had lost her car keys in the sand (he had also told we were cool earlier, hmmm). I’m thinking this should be a sign considering she could barely stand. So she came by the first time and asked if we could hang out with her dog while she searched for the keys nearby. It was a cool dog. Now I’ll admit. . . we were being silly, some of us more inebriated than others, and made comments about how we’d be pissed. We might have to dump a boy like that. Mind you, we were laughing and smiling and not giving off a negative vibe. Apparently Heather failed to notice this. When she couldn’t find her keys (did I mention it was dark and 10pm???) she came back to where we were and started moving things. She also proceeded to tell us how mean we were and that we were all a bunch of cunts. Yup, cunts. What a fantastic word, cunt. It evokes such emotion. Nearly all of us stared in disbelief that she not only came into our space with a rude attitude, but called us the grand mother of all names. It was seriously comical. She blathered on for a good five minutes and threw out the “c” word again. She never did find her keys – thus we could drive home safely without fear of being mowed down by Heather.
Honestly, I’ve never been called a cunt and walked away smiling. Maybe the toxins were released. I think I want to get it in script on a necklace. To remind me of just how much fun release can be. . . and why boys like fire so much.
